The Misaligned Stars That Made Our Constellation
by cheapxperfume
Summary: "Of course not. We're just a student and a professor having a Muggle smoke out on the roof of the Astronomy tower, Remus. What could be wrong with that?" Remus/OC.


"_It's all here." Professor Trelawney eagerly pushes the star chart towards me, wrinkling the edges of the opaque parchment in her excitement. "Look!"_

_I shake my head, bewildered. My final year of Divination and I've still yet to get the hang of astrology._

"_Merlin, Cora." She points to a softly glowing pinprick of light that is meant to represent a star. "This one is yours. Right?" I nod. _

"_Well, to put it simply, my dear, you're in the wrong place."_

"_What?"_

"_This scenario is astronomically impossible, Cora, yet here it is. Yours is surrounded by the stars that make up a certain constellation. Can you tell me which one it is?"_

_Finally, the pieces come together in my head. "Oh my God. That's—"_

"_Lupus," she says, a tone of finality coloring her voice. "The Wolf."_

* * *

"Knockturn Alley after midnight is not my idea of a good time."

I'm already regretting my decision to go to the pub after Azkaband's gig. They made the mistake of choosing an edgy place — "edgy" here meaning "run by goblins," which does not describe any place that I would willingly choose to spend my time.

"Come on, Whip, let's just go back to Hogwarts. We've both got class in the morning."

My boyfriend takes a long, unpracticed swig of firewhisky that was intended to make him look manly but just leads to some emasculating gagging.

"Babe, you know the situation." He jerks his head at the collection of tatted Hogwarts dropouts sitting at the bar beside him — his bandmates. "They're only just warming up to me as the new lead singer. I have to stay out late to keep them from changing their minds." He hacks again.

"Might wanna do something about that cough then," I mutter, irritated. As if on cue, one of Whip's bandmates swivels on his stool to face Whip and proposes a toast — to himself.

"Can't believe I found this place, mate." The toaster, who I have now recognized as The Drummer, raises his tankard. "Best hole-in-the-wall since Hog's Head."

Whip attempts to cough surreptitiously into his sleeve while nodding. I can only gaze around the cramped space with its dim purple lighting, barstools carved from something that looks suspiciously like bone, and large neon sign proclaiming its name: The Gob.

The Drummer does not acknowledge that I'm sitting on the other side of Whip, but this comes as no surprise. I was the first concern voiced when Whip joined Azkaband a couple of weeks ago. After all, a girlfriend is bad for groupie appeal, as The Bassist firmly informed the two of us. Despite the extra publicity that a Sirius Black-themed group gets in the wake of the outlaw's prison escape, there has been no love lost between Whip's new friends and me. I am fighting their blatant silent treatment by purposefully failing to learn their names (hence "The Drummer"). Normally I would voice my irritation, but Whip is immoderately excited about being attached to a new band. I do want this to go well for him.

The Drummer turns away, momentarily distracted by another band member. Whip presses a conciliatory kiss to my temple, but his lips are wet with alcohol and I know I have overstayed my welcome. As he turns to recapture The Drummer's attention, I review my options. I failed the early Apparition test, so that's out. So is walking back to Hogwarts from London.

"Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban is the best thing that ever happened to us!" The Bassist shouts. Whip laughs a little too loudly and the goblin working the bar glares in our direction. I bite my lip.

Suddenly someone at the end of the bar smacks a Galleon and a couple Knuts down on the table, the soft clink of metal against wood promising exact change and nothing more.

My eyes lift from the coins to the bloodshot eyes of my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Before I can change my mind, I kiss Whip on the cheek, slide off the barstool and approach Professor Lupin. In the space of prefatory silence, I wonder which emotion is stronger within him: surprise at seeing a student in a place like The Gob, or the embarrassment of being spotted here himself.

"I know this is a little unconventional," I begin apologetically. "I really need someone to take me back to Hogwarts."

The amaranthine lighting does odd things to the scars etched across Lupin's face. "Of course, Cora." Then he smiles. "How's that first extra credit essay coming?"

Damn. I was really hoping he wouldn't ask about that. "It's... in progress," I reply. The door to The Gob swings shut behind us as we step out into the dusky late-September chill.

"Hold that thought a moment, Cora." Lupin glances around, momentarily distracted. "Take my arm," he says. "You can Side-Along Apparate back to Hogsmeade with me and we'll proceed to the school from there."

Guiltily, I grab ahold of his arm and prepare myself for the vacuum feeling I have yet to become accustomed to. Seconds later, we are outside of an empty Three Broomsticks.

"_Origins of the Werewolf_," he muses as we begin to walk in the direction of Hogwarts. He's referring to the topic of the paper he assigned me last week, of course. In a rare twist of fate, I had both completed the reading on the Patronus Charm and chosen to attend class, answering enough of the questions correctly to give Lupin the misinformed idea that some independent study might further boost my intelligence — and my grades.

"Can I ask you why you picked the werewolf chapter?"

"Least amount of pages," I reply lightly, though unapologetically. Lupin just shakes his head.

"What were you doing in Knockturn Alley, Professor?" The question bursts out of me, the way inappropriate questions often do. My capacity for embarrassment was long ago replaced by an unquenchable curiosity.

Rather than reacting with anger, Lupin just laughs. "I don't know if you're aware of this, Cora, but at Hogwarts you live in a bubble." As we come upon the outskirts of Hogsmeade, he gestures all around him. "Everything is safe, everything is secure. That's fine if you're a seventeen-year-old, but I'll admit I get a little claustrophobic at times. Occasionally I go someplace that sets me on edge, makes me remember I'm alive."

"So of all the places you could've gone, you chose The Gob?" I ask incredulously.

"I can't say I'll be returning." He chuckles a bit.

"I probably will," I sigh. "My boyfriend's band has been playing regular gigs in Knockturn Alley. Looks as though The Gob will be our new after-party locale."

"Cora, can I ask you something? It's a bit of a serious question. Maybe even rude."

I almost trip over the uneven cobblestones beneath me, but keep my balance. "Go on."

He hesitates. It is only for an instant, but the brief silence resonates throughout his next words. "Don't you want to be more than a bartender serving Ogden's Old to blokes like your boyfriend for the rest of your life?"

It's a valid question — one that my father has asked in some variation on more than one occasion — but it stings regardless. I don't respond immediately, instead tracing the ever-expanding Hogwarts skyline with my eyes.

"I don't have any idea what I want to do with my life, Professor Lupin," I respond, a little harshly. "But I think bartending would be a welcome alternative to bumming around Hogsmeade after graduation."

"You're right, I'm sorry." We fall silent for a moment, then he speaks again.

"I was hoping my extra credit assignments might help you with that, Cora. Perhaps one of the topics you cover either inside or outside of class will be of interest to you."

"No offense meant, Professor, but I wouldn't get your hopes up," I laugh, shattering any residual tension. "Academically speaking, I'm pretty underwhelming. And I'm not good at planning ahead, either."

He humors me, the corner of his mouth turning up at one end, and again the conversation wanes.

"Professor, I know you don't think much of Whip," I say softly. His earlier comment, whether I want to admit it or not, is still echoing in my head. "I'm sorry about that. He does drink, but that doesn't make him a drinker."

Lupin nods, a little curtly, and glances upward.

"Do you know any constellations, Cora?"

I chuckle a bit. "To be honest, Professor, the Big Dipper is basically the only one I can identify on sight."

He stops walking suddenly, though we have almost reached Hogwarts' immense double doors. I mirror his actions, my eyes following his gaze.

"It's just there, isn't it?" He points at a collection of stars that I staunchly maintain looks like a great many other things besides a bloody "dipper."

"That's it." I cast a brief, incredulous glance at Lupin. While I typically have an easy time pinning down the motivations and thought processes of others, he has thus far proved himself a bit of a mystery. I have no idea why he feels the need to stargaze at this precise moment in time, yet the compulsion somehow extends to me. I turn my gaze upward again, desperately searching out the star Trelawney said was mine.

"Oh, I found the other one I know," I announce, oddly proud of myself. I point to a sky the color of blackberries, feeling oddly compelled to make him see the little specks of light in the same way that I do.

"See that one group of stars, just there?"

He looks at me then, and his scars catch the moonlight as though, for a moment, he is a stained-glass window through which no light can shine.

"Cora, I think we should go inside."


End file.
